


Thirst

by MrsNoggin



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, Begging, Crowley is a hungry hungry boy, Female Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fingering, Fluff, Light Dom/sub, Other, Pegging, Plush Angel, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 14:34:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20437631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsNoggin/pseuds/MrsNoggin
Summary: Prompt fic for "Sword" challenge on Agnes Nutter's Nice and Accurate Prompts, under 1k.The trust he gives her makes her chest ache, the open vulnerability a gift he has shared with no other."Do you want more?"





	Thirst

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I could have kept going with this, if not for WORD LIMITS. 
> 
> Please read the tags. Aziraphale is presenting as female today, and pronouns are currently She/Her. I love this fandom so goddamn much and I am NOT sorry. 
> 
> This is a prompt fic for The Nice and Accurate Prompts of Agnes Nutter, whom you should follow on Twitter immediately - [ @NceAccrtPrpmts](https://twitter.com/NceAccrtPrmpts%22)

The night is hot, but not humid. It is bearable, it is breathable. The stars shine unhindered by cloud tonight, and the moon is bright enough to illuminate all but the darkest corners of the room. The city has yet to quiet; the sounds of early twilight not quite faded to grey muffled noises. Soon, but not yet.

Aziraphale has Crowley right where she wants him. On his knees, face leant into the mattress while he quite possibly tries to suffocate himself. Though, she can't help noticing, there is an awful lot of groaning going on for someone who can't breathe. His muscles are tensed, tendons straining, his body undulating as he takes his pleasure from her. His sweat tastes delicious.

She kisses the lumps and bumps of his spine, all the way down, and over his hidden tailbone, until she reaches her own fingers, nestled quite lovingly in his generously lubricated arse. 

"Please," he begs, squirming around, trying to push further back. "Please, Angel. Tongue too."

He's being ever so polite. It would be dreadful of her to ignore that, wouldn't it? And he takes it so well, opening welcomingly for her. He also screams so delightfully, his voice breaking towards the end and fading into a croak as she wriggles her tongue in alongside her fingers. 

"Crowley, darling," Aziraphale croons, after a good few minutes of tonguing and fingering him at the same time. The trust he gives her makes her chest ache, the open vulnerability a gift he has shared with no other. "Do you want more?"

"Oh fuck yesssss please." His voice is faint now, and he's hissing, losing control, his tongue long and his teeth sharp.

"Do you want my…"

"Flaming ssssword? Yesss, please, my lovely." Crowley is grinning cheekily into the bedding. Just how she likes him, overwhelmed by lust and pleasure, but still with wit like a razor and naughty enough to make her laugh. 

He gets a rough slap on the backside and loses his breath for it though. And then Aziraphale miracles her 'flaming sword', as it will no doubt now forever be called, with leather harness around her plush hips. She could have called it to her ready prepared, but there is something so pleasing when she's in this body, this penisless form, to pour lubricant into her hand and smooth it up and down the shaft. It's like wanking, but without the sensation, disconnected, oddly soothing. 

Crowley is begging again, impatient and desperate, so she rests the weight of it in the crack of his arse, sways her hips back and forth to give him a little friction as a reward. He splays his legs wider in an attempt to gain contact where he wants it. 

The movement does put him in precisely the right position, though, and at precisely the right angle and it only takes a little adjustment on her part to catch the head of her new appendage on his rim. So she pushes in. 

The breach is long and drawn out, and it must feel brilliant. Crowley is beautiful, scrabbling at the sheets, his mouth dropped open in awe. It's not small, the dildo, her flaming sword; it stretches him, she can see tears brimming in his golden eyes. She keeps going, until her hips touch his skin, and the pressure of the harness hits her in all the right places. 

"I'm going to fuck you now, darling."

"Oh please, Angel."

It's slow and gentle, with an extra long slide out because that's the sensation Crowley enjoys the most. There's a shimmer of shadowy wings in the air, as he is drawn so deep into himself he accidentally pulls them into the world. Aziraphale runs her soft palms down the hard backs of his thighs, over the lean curve of taut hamstring, the skin warm and hair-rough on her hands. She feels the tremor in his legs as she leans in to push as deep as she can. 

The rhythm speeds as his volume increases. All her cues come from him in this, and he asks so nicely, with rocks of his hips and gasps of his lungs, his body trembling with the pleasure of just _ taking it _. He needs no more than this, he will come with cock untouched, and probably not much further in the future, judging from the rise in pitch of his moans.

Crowley calls for her, his body bucking, chasing the pure high, desperation pooling in the sweat in the small of his back. She trails fingers through it, and brings it to her mouth to taste. She'll do that with his come too, soon, while he lies back and lets her ride his face, his slippery, tricksy tongue flickering over her clit and fingers jammed deep inside her. 

She can't keep it in anymore, worship has never been quiet for her. "Oh, my darling, look at you. You take it so beautifully, you are so glorious, I could do this forever, you are so good, so good. Let me love you forever, let me have you always."

The sound that comes from Crowley is inhuman, a deep rumbling growl that somehow echoes in a higher register, humming at the windows, electrifying the air. She digs her nails into the sweat-slick skin of his hips, hard enough to break the skin and drive him wild. And he comes, hard, his whole body heating and heaving, shivering and shuddering, her name on his lips, stuttering through his teeth. 

Crowley is not even settled, still twitching in odd places, when he snaps tired, cramping fingers to blink her sword from her, and flop down onto his back. 

"Come sit on my face and let me drink you down," he pants, "I'm so thirsty for you, Angel.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos make my world go round. Please and thank you.
> 
> I'm on Twitter as [ @katnoggin](https://twitter.com/KatNoggin) \- please come and find me for further discourse.


End file.
